


Street Kid

by thefriendlymushroom



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Ambiguous Backstory, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Homeless!Reader, I don't, POV Second Person, Reader was kicked out of their home, Stitching up Frank Castle, but any gender will do, reader is a teen, who knows when this is set, written with a fem reader in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefriendlymushroom/pseuds/thefriendlymushroom
Summary: anon request: “hi :) can you do a platonic frank castle imagine where he is in a fight and looses alot of blood and end up passing out in an alley but a street kid (16/17 yo female) stitches him up and saves him and later he runs into him and they develop a father-daughter relationship? thank you so much!”
Relationships: Frank Castle & Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Street Kid

You ducked through the alley, taking the shortcut you always took. You stumbled to a halt when you noticed a body laying on the ground. _Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,_ you thought as you inched closer to the man, letting out a breath when you noticed the rise and fall of his chest. You hesitantly leaned over him, toeing him with the edge of your shoe. “Buddy…uh, you okay there?” you asked, nudging him a few more times. It wasn’t until the fifth nudge until he finally gasped awake, wildly swinging at you the instant his eyes opened.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you called, stepping back several feet. “Chill, dude, you’re fine.”

It was a few moments for him to calm his breathing and gather his surroundings. “Who’re you?” he grumbled, words almost slurred.

“Uh…Y/N. I was just walking by and I saw…” You noticed his wide away of injuries then. He was so bruised and bloodied, you weren’t sure where one wound ended and another began. Blood obscured his face so you couldn’t make out any details as to who he might have been. But the skull on the chest was a dead giveaway. The Punisher. “I think you need a hospital.”

“No—no hospitals.” He stumbled to his feet but crashed into a dumpster, unable to find his balance.

“Uh, yes. Yes hospitals.”

“M’fine.”

“Uh-huh. Is there…is there anyone after you? You look like you got the shit beat of you. They won’t be coming back, will they?”

“No. No.”

You sighed. “Glad that’s settled. So if no hospitals, you got anyone I can call? You got friends?”

“Look like I make friends?”

“No.” You looked around and sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t feel like a good Samaritan if I left you all by yourself. You wanna follow me or…?” He huffed something that almost sounded like a laugh, but hesitantly shuffled behind you after you started walking.

You kept pace with him as you navigated to your home. No, house? No… _place you slept_. The abandoned building that acted as the roof over your head wasn’t much, but it was all you had. After your parents had kicked you out a year and a half ago—and your subsequent emancipation—it was the best spot you could find. The shelters were always overcrowded and no landlord in their right mind would lease to a sixteen-year-old, so you settled. At the very least, you were able to spend money earned from your two fast food jobs on things other than rent. Like food. And a nice sleeping bag. And, useful in instances like this, a well-stocked first aid kit.

You held open the gap in the chain link fence for the man to wince his way through. In any other instance, you’d feel hesitant to let a stranger—a grown man, no less—into what acted as your home, but this was the Punisher you were talking about. Even though he…killed…people, you read enough in the news to know that his moral code—however skewed it was—wouldn’t let him hurt women or kids. As you fell squarely into that category, you figured you were safe.

You kicked open the door to your building and led the Punisher up the stairs to the room where you camped out. You directed him to sit on the dusty table at the center of the room. You pulled out the first aid kit you had, as well as a couple clean towels you had nicked from work. You set those on the table next to the Punisher before pulling the 48-pack of water bottles out from under the table. You wet a towel with one of the bottles and handed it to him. He started cleaning his face until he could finally see clearly through the blood.

“You live here?” he asked after taking in the room fully. You noticed his eyes lingered on the sleeping bed and mat framed by battery-operated string lights in the corner of the room. Then he finally took in your appearance. “Jesus, you’re just a kid.” And your age, apparently.

“I’m eighteen!” you tried to defend yourself. Frank arched an eyebrow, eyes sliding to your stuffed animal still propped up on your pillow. You sighed, looking down. “Sixteen. And a half,” you added after a moment. As if it would help your case.

“Where are your parents?”

You crossed your arms defensively. “It’s a long story.”

“Fair enough.” He looked around the room once more. “You got a mirror I can use?” You nodded and slid a half-shattered mirror from behind the door. He nodded his thanks and stepped over to the mirror, sliding his shirt and vest off with a grimace.

You puttered around while he did whatever he needed to fix himself up and clean himself off. You tried to avoid looking over at him, the blood making your stomach queasy. You were able to ignore him until he caught your attention half an hour later.

“Kid,” he called. “Kid. Hey, kid!”

It was the last one that startled you to attention. You jumped and turned to face him. He was cleaned and stitched up. For the most part. He definitely looked a lot better than when you saw him for the first time. But you still thought he should go to the hospital. Punisher or not.

“I need your help,” he continued.

“How am I supposed to help?” you asked.

He turned to show you a gash on the back side of his ribcage. “Needs stitched. I can’t reach it.”

“And you want me to…” You gulped.

“You got anyone else here to help out?”

“Well…no.”

He gestured you over and then pressed a needle and tweezers in your hands. You eyed the curved suturing needle warily. “I’ve already sterilized everything. I just need you to close it.” He braced himself against the wall with his opposite arm.

“I—I don’t know what to do.”

He pulled your hands so they were against the wound. “You gotta pinch it closed then about half a centimeter from the edge slide the needle in and straight across.”

You followed his directions and gagged at the feeling of the needle sliding through skin. “Oh my god! That is disgusting!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

You gagged again as you pulled the needle through the opposite edge of skin. “Now what?” you asked, breathing heavily.

“Double knot it and cut it off. And then go every quarter inch or so until the end.”

You did as he said until the entire would was sealed off. You raced to grab a bottle of water to pour over your hands. You never wished more for running water so you could thoroughly wash the blood off your hands—and the memory of feeling the sutures pull against skin. “Please tell me that’s the only one,” you said when your hands were the cleanest they were going to get.

“Yeah, that’s the only one.”

“You do that often?”

He chuckled. “More than I should.” He shrugged his bloody shirt back on, seemingly preparing to leave. “You stay here by yourself?”

“For the most part,” you answered. “I mean, sometimes there’s a few kids who hole up downstairs, but for the most part, it’s just me.”

Frank looked conflicted, as if he wanted to leave but didn’t feel right leaving you here alone. After a few moments, he seemed to make up his mind. “I should probably lie low for a little while. You mind if I stay out in the hallway?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t…I don’t have, like, any extra pillows or anything to give you, though.”

“Trust me, kid, I’ve slept in worse places than that dingey hallway.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I probably should…be getting to bed,” you said. You weren’t anywhere near tired, but you don’t want him to feel like he needed to hang around you any longer. You passed him two water bottles as he stepped outside of the room. “Well, uh, goodnight, Frank.”

He tensed as you said his name. “How do you know my name?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “Uh, it’s not exactly like you’re incognito. The Punisher logo on your vest kind of gave it away.”

“Right. Night, kid.”

“Goodnight.”

You smiled and shut the door, moving to curl into your little bedspace. If you were being completely honest, you felt the safest tonight sleeping here than you’d ever had. Logically, you knew the Punisher was supposed to be some big, scary man, but deep down, you knew no harm would come to you with Frank Castle sitting just outside your door.

The sunlight slowly woke you the next morning. You squinted into the light that poured in from the broken window above your sleeping bag. You turned over and tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. You rose from the makeshift bed, wincing as your joints popped, and made your way to the hallway. You looked down each end, but Frank was gone. It didn’t surprise you that he left at some point in the night, but you couldn’t say you weren’t a little disappointed he wasn’t there. You shuffled back into your room, freezing when you saw what was on the table.

Breakfast.

A hot, steaming breakfast.

You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it earlier, what with the smell now wafting towards your nose. Instantly, your stomach rumbled. You rushed over to the takeout container, eager to find what was inside. A sticky note on top simply read “ _Thanks, kid,_ ” but you set it aside. Your mouth watered the instant you opened the container.

 _Pancakes_.

This was probably the single most happiest moment of your life. You hadn’t had a hot meal—let alone a hot _breakfast_ —in who knows _how_ long. The platter spread before you seemed like a feast. You dug in happily, savoring every bite until it was gone.

That was the last you expected to hear from the Punisher. You stitched him up, he bought you breakfast the next day as thanks, that should be it, right?

Turns out Frank Castle was a man of many surprises.

Nearly every single day from that point forward, you would find a takeout container centered on your table. Sometimes, he left you breakfast like that first day—sometimes pancakes, sometimes omelets, but all from the diner a few blocks down the road. Other days, he’d bring you dinner, leaving Chinese takeout containers piled high on the table or a Tupperware container full of homemade spaghetti. You weren’t sure who made the spaghetti—you couldn’t exactly picture Frank in the kitchen—but it was incredible, nonetheless.

Your favorite days were when Frank lingered after dropping the food off, eventually going as far as to sit and eat with you when he could. Those days left you feeling the happiest. Dinners with Frank happened more and more until he offered you the small second bedroom in his rundown apartment. “I’m never gonna use it,” he said, “and I’m not gonna bust you out of jail if you get caught for trespassing.” You eagerly grabbed the opportunity with both hands—you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that horse would get you out of this rat- and cockroach-infested hellhole. Living in an actual apartment would be a _dream_.

Thinking back on everything, you weren’t sure when the feeling began, but one day, you realized…you felt like a family. By all means, the relationship you had with Frank Castle was far more familial and paternal than any you’d ever had with your biological family. With each passing day, you couldn’t be happier that you’d stumbled across a half-dead Punisher in the alley that night.


End file.
